Wants are the Locks
by Not Write This
Summary: Mary Margaret has had a terrible date, and Emma can think of one surefire way to cheer her up. And if it proves how much she *doesn't* believe Henry, then so much the better, right?


_*****WARNING: This qualifies as mother/daughter incest. Please don't read if this offends you*****_

**WHITE SWAN**

"Must be the curse," Mary Margaret says with a rueful smile, and Emma smiles back to disguise the strange swirling sensation that even mentioning it causes. It's not real. It cannot be real.

"Why are you out so late?" Emma asks, leaning back against the side of the car and trying to project some of her usual confidence.

"Well, I'm a teacher, not a nun," Mary Margaret points out, just a hint of offense in her tone. Emma tries not to consider how many sweet girls like this she's made a point of corrupting, the ones who think they're so ibad/i for having a third drink, who get so damn upset when you point out that a slice of cake for breakfast isn't really what the rest of the world considers 'bad' behavior. "I had a date," Mary Margaret finishes, staring at her shoes.

But Emma just plain likes Mary Margaret, more than anything else. There's a connection there that might be scary at any other time, but maybe it's just that Emma isn't used to liking really anyone at all. This Henry kid is causing new problems all over Emma's life.

"From the looks of things, it went well," Emma teases, trying not to enjoy the sad little sigh from Mary Margaret in response. It would be so easy… and after another day of being thwarted by Regina at every turn, the restless streak in Emma is trying to take the wheel.

"As well as they ever do," Mary Margaret admits, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Tell me he at least paid," Emma asks, because if she is (no, she isn't. Henry's head would explode) setting herself up already as the more chivalrous alternative.

Mary Margaret shakes her head, and Emma's "ew" is actually genuine.

"Well," Mary Margaret concedes. "I guess if true love was easy, we'd all have it. You know," she continues, her face practically lighting up with how _good_ she is. "If things get cramped, I do have a spare room."

"Thanks, but I'm not really the roommate type," Emma says, flustered by the kindness of the offer—and the potential derailing of her newly hatched plan. "It's just not my thing. I do better on my own."

"Well, goodnight," Mary Margaret says, and Emma sees her chance slipping away right in front of her. She's horny as hell, and there's something about Mary Margaret that says she'd be so damn willing to please, that Emma can't let that happen.

"Hey, just because I'm not moving in, doesn't mean I can't give you a ride home," Emma points out. "Unless you find my Bug too cramped," she adds, with what has to be a winning smile.

"You know, normally I'd just walk," Mary Margaret starts to protest. "But it's been a long night, and I'm pretty tired."

"Hop in," Emma says, nodding her head towards the passenger side. She slides back into the driver's seat and offers up a silent prayer that the damn car actually starts. When the engine sputters into life, she takes it as a promising sign.

"Come in," Mary Margaret insists when they pull up outside what looks like a converted warehouse. "Someone may as well get a nightcap tonight. I have some really great tea…"

"O-kay," Emma says, pretending like she really had to have her arm twisted. "I can't stay long, though."

"Why?" Mary Margaret asks, turning towards Emma. "Does your backseat have a curfew?"

"Who said I'll be sleeping in the backseat?" Emma asks, leaning across the gap between the two front seats. "Or were you thinking about something else?"

"I, uh, well…" Mary Margaret flounders, and Emma leans in the rest of the way, pressing a gentle kiss against soft lips, still faintly sticky with fading lipgloss. Tastes like cherries, Emma notes as she pulls back and licks her own lips.

"Hey, just because your date went badly," Emma says, and it sounds surprisingly kind. "Doesn't mean the night can't have a happy ending."

"This doesn't look much like a fairytale," Mary Margaret replies, but she's not tensing up, she's not grabbing for the door handle and running inside.

"Oh, trust me," Emma says smoothly. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she moves in to steal another fleeting kiss. "Does this cheesy routine work on all the girls?"

"Just the pretty ones," Emma lies. "Is this… okay?" She asks, suddenly unsure. She tamps down thoughts of Henry, of his goddamned certainty. Tonight she's going to prove that this strange, sudden connection between her and Mary Margaret is just some pretty decent sex waiting to happen.

"What? Don't you think I'm that kind of girl?" Mary Margaret asks, and this time she tugs on Emma's blonde hair, pulling her into a kiss that's nothing like gentle, and definitely with a lot more tongue.

"Come inside," Mary Margaret whispers when they part, but Emma has something else in mind.

"Backseat sounds fine to me," Emma says, pushing past Mary Margaret and diving through the gap with not much grace. "Come on," Emma says, patting the seat she's folded herself onto. "You only live once, right?"

"My date would die to know he missed out on _this_," Mary Margaret says with a giggle, before pushing her way through to land on Emma's lap.

"That's a pretty dress," Emma says after a long kiss that ends with her sucking on Mary Margaret's plump bottom lip. "But I bet you look even better without it," she adds, pushing the pink cardigan down Mary Margaret's arms and shoving the straps of her dress right after it.

Mary Margaret gives as good as she gets, unbuttoning Emma's jeans before slipping cool hands underneath her white tanktop while they make out furiously. That Mary Margaret isn't timid about it is still surprising, but Emma doesn't care so much when those exploring hands cup Emma's breasts through her flimsy bra. She can't help it, she moans at the first flick of a finger over her nipple.

"Not so Snow White now, hmm?" Mary Margaret whispers against Emma's ear, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

"Maybe Snow White was a secret badass all this time," Emma says, running her fingers through that short dark hair before sucking pointedly at the inviting little dip at the base of Mary Margaret's throat. "Or maybe the quiet ones really are the ones to watch out for."

"Oh," Mary Margaret says, straddling Emma's hips fully now. "I'm not quiet. Not even close."

"Hope your neighbors are understanding," Emma says, trying not to smirk. That's taken care of for her when Mary Margaret's questing fingers roll that hardened nipple almost hard enough to be a pinch.

"They'll have to be," Mary Margaret says with a shrug. "Because it has been way too long."

"I can tell," Emma says, directing one hand along Mary Margaret's bare thigh, up under the flowing skirt of her pretty summer dress. "And don't worry," Emma adds. "I'll make sure it's good enough to tide you over for a while."

"You seem pretty confident," Mary Margaret accuses, but she drops her head back with a contented little sigh as Emma's fingertips skim the damp cotton of her panties. "But then maybe you have reason to be, Emma Swan."

"Can't be worse than an idiot who doesn't even pay for dinner, right?" Emma asks, applying more pressure with her thumb as she strokes a determined line back and forth over Mary Margaret's underwear, revelling in the little hiss whenever Emma grazes Mary Margaret's clit through the cotton.

Mary Margaret leans forward then, placing one hand above Emma's head and letting it slide down the rapidly fogging glass. Mary Margaret's other hand finds its way from under Emma's shirt to inside the tight denim of her jeans, so Emma helps Mary Margaret out by shoving the jeans further down her thighs.

"Oh," Mary Margaret sighs as she slips her fingers inside Emma's underwear. "Seems I'm not the only one with needs, huh?"

"Never denied it," Emma says gruffly, pushing Mary Margaret's panties aside and sliding one finger through the exposed wetness. The shuddering sigh from Mary Margaret spurs Emma on, and she yanks Mary Margaret's dress down, pulling her bra roughly along with it. It's not exactly a smooth seduction, but nobody's complaining as Emma teases a hard nipple with her tongue in a series of fluttering little strokes.

Emma has to admit she was expecting something a little more fumbled, a little more hesitant, but Mary Margaret's fingers work every bit as deftly as Emma's own. There's the insistent rubbing pressure over Emma's clit, alternated with massaging strokes along the length of her pussy, before pressing one finger, then a second inside.

It would be rude not to return the gesture, and so Emma corkscrews her fingers past Mary Margaret's soaked entrance, not sure whether it's that or the sudden, hard sucking on her nipple that causes the trembling moan that feels like a bolt straight to Emma's own clit.

They're rocking together clumsily now, Emma can feel the sweat running down the back of her neck, prickling along her thighs as Mary Margaret picks up the pace with her fingers, crooking them at exactly the right angle to graze Emma's g-spot each time. When Mary Margaret rubs (slightly awkwardly) with the side of her thumb over Emma's clit, they both know she's a goner, but she grits her teeth, picks up the force of her own moves and in the midst of the wet sounds of skin against skin and moans that can't quite manage to be bitten back, Emma just manages to bring Mary Margaret to climax before falling over the edge herself.

"Fuck," she gasps as Mary Margaret collapses on top of her. The hug blindsides Emma, who never, ever does cuddling, but it feels so warm and welcoming (and so goddamned right) that Emma can't summon the will to resist. They lie there, legs still folded at awkward angles, breathing harshly in a car that now smells distinctly of sex instead of Emma's fading pine air freshener.

"Happy enough?" Emma asks, when she summons the will to wriggle back into a sitting position and escape the hug.

"Better than I hoped for at the start of the night," Mary Margaret admits. "You look tired, Emma."

"Well, you're sitting on my bed," Emma points out, stretching as best she can and pulling ineffectually at her jeans. "If you, um, need to get to bed. You know, with work in the morning and all…"

"Come inside," Mary Margaret says again, only this time it's stern and it doesn't sound like she's going to take 'no' for an answer. "You can crash in the spare room, if you want. But get one decent night's sleep before trying to take on Regina again, hmm?"

"Fine," Emma sighs, because her back is already stiff and the prospect of anything above a bed of nails sounds hella tempting right now. "But you know, if you're not too tired, there's always your bed."

"We'll see," Mary Margaret says, fixing her dress and reaching for her discarded cardigan. "But we are definitely getting out of this cramped car."

"Whatever you say," Emma grumbles, unusually inclined to do whatever Mary Margaret tells her. "But this doesn't mean I'm staying for breakfast."

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and climbs back through into the passenger seat. Emma follows, grabbing Mary Margaret's ass for good measure.

And if there's any nagging doubt, in the last dark corners of her mind, Emma isn't going to listen.


End file.
